Harry Potter: An Alternate Story
by Jaye Wolf
Summary: What if Harry had another cousin? One with the same troublemaking talent as Harry does. A story of Harry and his magical cousin, Alice, and their adventures as first years at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
1. Chapter 1

The Boy Who Lived

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number 4, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal thank you very much. They were the last people that you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much time craning over garden fences, spying on neighbors. The Dursleys had two small children, a boy and a girl. They where overly fond of the boy named Dudlley. The girl seemed strange, and she gave off a feeling of peculiarity that made Mrs. Dursley shutter when she held her. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley where currently looking for a nanny to take care of the child until she got older. Her name was Alice.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that someone would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended that she didn't have a sister. This was becoming harder and harder to deny, due to the fact that young Alice was sprouting red hair just like Mrs. Potter's. Soon the neighbors would start asking questions that the Dursleys weren't sure they could answer without revealing their secret.

To Mrs. Dursley, her sister and her good-for-nothing husband where as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew they had a small child too, but they had never even seen the boy. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't need their children mixing with a child like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs, Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into a high chair. Alice was in her high chair already, crying as well. Mrs. Dursley remarked on how one baby's cry would make the other one start, while giving Alice an exasperated and almost mean look. She ignored the fact that Dudley had started crying first.

None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase and his keys, which he swore he had left on the counter. They were now on the table next to his silverware. Mr. Dursley pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. Mr. Dursley simply laughed, "little tyke" he chortled. He then kissed Alice, who had calmed down by now and was giggling at her brother, on the head. "Little princes" he chuckled as he left his house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar - a cat reading a map. For a second Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen - then he jerked his head back to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive - no, _looking _at the sign; cats couldn't read maps _or_ signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But at the edge of town drills where driven from his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes - the getups you saw on young people! He supposed it was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They where whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt - these people where obviously collecting for something . . . yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might of founding it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. _He _didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never saw an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. He almost compared it to when he was with his new daughter, almost. This bunch where whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard-"

" -yes their boy Harry - "

Mr. Dursley stopped dead in his tracks. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone and almost fished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache thinking . . . no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son named Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew _was _called Harry. He'd never seen the boy. It might have been called Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always go so upset at any mention of her sister… maybe that was why she hadn't taken to her Alice as she had to Dudley. He didn't blame her - if _he'd_ had a sister like that . . . but all the same, those people in cloaks . . .

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset about being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made a passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination. As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw - and it didn't improve his mood - was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't"). She went on to say that Alice had learned new words that day too, ("Please and Thank you.") although Mrs. Dursley seemed far more excited about Dudley's new word than Alice's. She went on to say that hiring a nanny would be too expensive for Alice so they would just have to make do with the child. During all this Mr. Dursley tried to act normally.

When Alice and a reluctant Dudley where put to bed, Mr. Dursley went into the living room in time to catch the last report of the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight Jim?"

"Well, Ted," Sad the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating bonfire night early - it's not until next week folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters . . .

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was not good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er - Petunia, dear - you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls . . . Shooting stars . . . and there where a lot of funny-looking people in town today . . ."

_"__So?" _snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought . . . maybe . . . it was something to do with . . . you know . . . _her _crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered weather he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could,

"Their son - he'd be about the Twins' age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly

"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"

"Harry. Nasty common name, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was starting down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did . . . Well if it got out that they were related to a pair of - well he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters _were _involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind . . . He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on - he yawned and turned over - it couldn't affect them . . .

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street over, when two owls swooped overhead. In, fact it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground and, high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparking behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop . He clicked it again - The next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather sever-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff too if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day." Said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have past a dozen feasts and parties on the way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily

"Oh yes, everyones celebrating, all right." She said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no - even the muggles have noticed something going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window.

"I heard it. Flocks of owls . . . shooting stars . . . Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You cant blame them." Said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that." Said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to loose our heads . People are being downright careless out on the streets in broad daylight not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp sideways glance at Dumbledore here as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really _has _gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A _what_?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as thought she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who _has _gone -"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his real name? All of this 'You-Know-Who nonsense - for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: _Voldemort." _Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets very confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one that You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because your too - well - _noble _to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madame Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the _rumors_ that are flying around. You know what they are saying? About why he disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as cat nor a women had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're _saying." _she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are - are - that they're -_ dead"_

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James . . . I can't believe it . . . I didn't want to believe it . . . Oh, Albus . . ."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder " I know . . . I know . . ." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on "Thats's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But - he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke - and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's - it's _true_?" faltered Professor Mcgonagall. "After all he's done . . . all the people he's killed . . . he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding . . . of al the things to stop him . . . but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets where moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late, I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. " And I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why _you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You don't mean - you _can't _mean the people who live _here?" _ cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feat and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore - you cant. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son - I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!"

"Yes, but I'm sure you've noticed their more than gifted daughter. He will at least be growing up with someone like him. It's extremely lucky that he will not be alone in the house." Said Dumbledore looking up at the stars. "Besides it will be the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older, and it will help them with their daughter as well. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him or their daughter. I've seen that woman in the house, she barely even holds her! Her own child!"

She took a deep breath "He'll be famous - a legend - I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter Day in the future - there will be books written about Harry - every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boys head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he is ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and than said, "Yes - yes, your right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" she eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it - _wise_ - to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to - what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky - and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man, and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so _wild - _long tangles of bushy hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feat in his leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir" said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Serious Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor Mcgonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where - ?" whispered Professor McGonagall

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well - give him here, Hagrid - we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursley's house.

"Could I - could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-cant stand it - Lily an James dead - an poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles -"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over a low garden wall and walked to the front door.

"Besides he wont be alone, his cousin will be a Witch. She's already so talented." Said Professor McGonagall calming Hagrid down a little.

Dumbledore laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffed voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir"

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the Silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange, and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter, rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursely's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley, or that his other cousin Alice would start defending him against Dudley, much to his and Mrs. Dursely's dismay and anger . . . He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter - The boy who lived!"


	2. Chapter 2

The Vanishing Glass

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their new nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursley's front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursely had seen the fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantlepiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets - but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that two other children lived in the same house, too.

Yet both Dudley's sister, Alice Dursely, was still there, along with Harry Potter their orphaned cousin. Harry was asleep at the moment but not for long. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get Up! Now!"

Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" She screeched. Harry heard her walk around towards the door, then up the stairs to go wake up her daughter in the same rude way she woke him up.

He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.

He heard his aunt coming back down the stairs, and come to his door once again.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Nearly." said Harry.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

"Its Alice's birthday, too." Harry said groggily

"What did you say?" His aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing . . ."

Dudley's birthday - how could he have forgotten. Of course it was his cousin Alice's birthday as well, but the day usually always ended up being all about Dudley. Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for a pair of socks. He found a pair under his bed, and after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs is where he slept.

As he was getting dressed he heard a small pair of footsteps come down the stairs above him, and come around to his door. He heard a small knock on the door.

"Morning, little brother," came a small sweet voice from the other side of the door.

"Happy birthday, big sister." He answered with a smile. The voice laughed a little laugh.

"We both know I never get to celebrate my birthday."

"Still," Harry said "It's not every day you turn eleven,"

"Come on out, I'll help you with breakfast."

"Be right there." Harry replied as he finished getting dressed. He stepped out of his cupboard to see his cousin Alice. She was almost the same hight as Harry if not a couple centimeters tall than him. She had long red hair that her mother detested, and deep blue eyes. She smiled.

"Took you long enough little brother." Of course Alice and Harry were not brother and sister, but they were close enough to be. The cousins had decided at a young age that Alice felt closer to Harry than she did to Dudley, so she decided to call him little brother; the fact that it infuriated Harry's aunt to do so was an added bonus.

Harry followed Alice down the hall and into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all of Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry. As Dudley was very fat and hated exercise - unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn't often catch him. If he ever did, Alice was right at his side trying to make Dudley stop. Dudley usually started punching her when that happened, but that almost never did. Even thought he didn't look it, Harry was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was, because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was.

Alice had it worse though. The only clothes she had were either Dudley's old clothes, clothes that her father had bought her on special occasions or clothes that her mother had worn as a child.

Harry had a thin face, knobby knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him in the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a lightening bolt. He had had it as long as he could remember. The first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

_Don't ask questions _- that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon enter the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon. Harry noticed his uncle was folding up a thick yellow envelope of some kind and putting it into his jacket pocket, it left a noticeable bump. He patted it like it disturbed him greatly, his face was pale and sweating a little.

"Morning Daddy," Alice said cheerfully to Uncle Vernon as she was working on buttering some toast "What do you have there?"

"Oh . . . nothing," Uncle Vernon said with a nervous smile, "Just some bills I have to remember to pay." He said with a small nervous chuckle. As he sat down he caught notice of Harry.

"Comb your hair!" He barked, by a way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way - all over the place.

Harry was frying the eggs when Uncle Vernon spoke again.

"Princess, why don't you come and sit with me so I don't have to shout across the room to talk to you." Uncle Vernon said in a kindly voice he only ever used with Alice. As mean as Uncle Vernon was, he was the only other person, besides Harry, who seemed to actually care about Alice in the house, as long as Aunt Petunia and Dudley weren't around.

"Sure thing Daddy." Alice said with a smile. She finished buttering the last piece of toast and walked over to the table to sit by her father.

Right as she was about to sit down, Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blonde hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel - Harry often said Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

When Harry was younger he noticed that Uncle Vernon and Dudley looked a lot alike. Harry asked his Aunt Petunia why Alice didn't look like her. He was sent to his cupboard after that, but he kept asking again and again until she finally gave in. Harry remembered her saying in her shrill voice.

"I don't know why, but she seems to look a lot like your mother! Now don't ask anymore questions!"

Aunt Petunia noticed that Alice was sitting at the table next to Uncle Vernon, and an annoyed expression crossed her face for a second.

"Alice, why don't you go make us some toast."

Alice scowled a little and said, "But I've already made some." She pointed over to the large plate of toast on the counter.

"You can make us some more then." Aunt Petunia said as she scooted Alice out of the way to take her place at the table. Alice looked over to her father for support but he was already engrossed in Dudley and which present he would pick first. As Alice was walking over near Harry she grumbled something about toast and long necked freaks.

Harry put the plates of eggs, bacon, and toast on the table. This was rather difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile was counting all of his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," He said looking glumly at his mother and father "Thats two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. He could see Alice doing the same thing.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll by you another_ two_ presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty . . . thirty . . ."

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel.

"All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled, seeming to forget all his worries he had before about his bills. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry, Alice, and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg, she can't take them." She jerked her head in Harry and Alice's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's heart stated racing as he looked at Alice who was obviously feeling the same way. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry and Alice were left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. They both hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made them look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Alice and Harry as thought they had planned the accident together. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the two of them."

The Durselys often talked about Harry and Alice like this, as though they weren't there - or as if they were a pair of something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a pair of slugs.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend - Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia

"You could just leave us here." Harry put in hopefully (they'd at least be able to watch what they wanted on television for a change and maybe even go on Dudley's computer). Even Alice looked surprised that Harry said this.

Aunt Petunia looked as thought she swallowed a lemon.

"And come back to find the house in ruins?" She snarled at them.

"We're not going to blow up the house." Said Alice, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take them to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly " . . .and leave them in the car . . ."

"That car's new, they're not sitting in their by themselves." Alice shot a hurt look at her father but if he noticed he didn't show any sign of it.

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying - it had been years since he'd really cried - but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, mommy won't let them spoil your special day!" she cried flinging her arms around him.

"Our special day" Alice said just audible to Harry over Dudley's screams.

"I . . . don't . . . want . . . them . . . t-t-to . . . come!" dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. "They always sp-spoil everything!" Dudley shot Harry and Alice a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Just then the doorbell rang - "Oh good lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically - and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harry who couldn't believe his luck, was siting in the back of the Dursleys' car, double buckled with Alice, in-between Piers and Dudley on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. Alice was just as excited as he was because it was her first time too. Piers kept distracting Alice by poking her over and over again while Dudley punched him in his side.

Harry's aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with Alice and him, but Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's. "I'm warning you now, boy - any funny business, anything at all - and you'll be in the cupboard from here until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry "honestly . . ."

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one ever did. Harry glanced over to Alice, she seemed to be getting the same talk from Aunt Petunia, because she got in trouble just as much as he did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and Alice, and no matter what they said about it not being their faults, not a single person believed them.

For instance, once, Aunt Petunia was tired of having Harry come back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been there at all. She had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short it was almost bald except for his bangs, which she left to "hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry. Alice had offered him one of her hats to wear the next day, which comforted him a little. He still was up half the night though, worrying about the next day at school, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. The next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he didn't know how it had grown back so quickly

On the other hand, Alice had gotten in trouble when she got all of Dudley's old clothes, and the next day when she looked in her drawers at them, they had all been colored pink and shrunk to fit her perfectly. When she couldn't explain how it happened she was grounded for two weeks.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force Harry into a revolting old sweater (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harry. Aunt Petunia decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn't punished.

One time, both Alice and Harry had gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing Harry and Alice as usual when, to their surprise, there they were sitting up on the chimney of the building. The Durselys had received a very angry letter from the school's headmistress telling them Harry and Alice had been climbing school buildings. But all they had been trying to do (as Harry had shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchens doors.

When they were in the Headmistress's room with the rest of the Dursley family, Alice had tried to defend them. She told them that they had been trying to run away from Dudley and his gang.

"Oh please Ms. Dursley," the headmistress said, "Do you honestly expect me to believe that your brother has a 'gang'?" Alice got red in the face as she stood up from her chair in the headmistress's office.

"Yes, I do, and if your teachers did half the job they were supposed to do, they would see that for themselves!"

Dudley screwed up his face again, saying, "I don't have a gang!" Of course all the adults ate it up, "Alice why are you such a liar!?" Aunt Petunia shrieked at her, as Dudley sneaked an evil smile at her. Alice turned around and stormed out the door, but before she left she looked back at the headmistress and said in an angry voice, "Don't ever call me 'Ms. Dursley', I hate that name." It was a very awkward drive home. Later that night, Harry thought maybe the wind must have caught them mid jump, Alice guessed that he may have been right, maybe. The next day, Alice found out that Dudley had told the story to the whole school, and now she was being called things like the "Loudmouth Liar."

But today nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers, to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school or the cupboard. Harry got along all right because of Alice. The best days were when he got to be alone with Alice in her room, but just to be out of the house and to have Alice (who was usually in her room as well) was even better.

While Uncle Vernon drove, Aunt Petunia complained to him. She liked to complain about things: the neighbors, Harry and Alice, the council, Harry and Alice, the bank, Harry and Alice, were just a couple if her favorite subjects. Uncle Vernon began to complain about all the same things Aunt Petunia was complaining about, because he loved to complain even more than Aunt Petunia did. Although today, Uncle Vernon began to complain about motorcycles.

". . . roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front of him. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered. Alice tried to calm down Uncle Vernon.

"Of course they don't, daddy," she chanced a look at Harry in apology. "It was just a silly dream he had." Aunt Petunia turned around in her seat now and shot Alice a dirty look.

Harry was grateful to Alice for defending him, and he knew he shouldn't have said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon - they seemed to think he and Alice would get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Sunday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys brought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked what Harry and Alice wanted before they could hurry them away, they bought them a cheap lemon ice pop, to share. It wasn't bad, either, Harry thought licking it and then passing it to Alice. They watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blonde.

At one point the gorilla started copying everything that Alice was doing. Alice and Harry had fun messing around with the big ape, until Uncle Vernon started giving them dirty looks along with Aunt Petunia. They quickly moved on to a new animal.

Harry and Alice had the best morning they'd had in a long time. They were careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting them. They ate at the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one, and Alice and Harry were aloud allowed to finish the first.

Alice told Harry, afterword, that he should have known it was all too good to be true, Harry couldn't help but agree.

After lunch, they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can - but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep. Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Harry and Alice moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. Alice began to fidget.

"I'm going to move on to the next one," she said nervously as she started walking away.

"Why?" Harry asked turning his head to follow her.

"That thing is scary. I'll be over here by the crocodiles." She said quickly. Harry turned back to look at the giant snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself - no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until it's eyes were level with Harry's.

It winked.

Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. He almost called over Alice, but he was pretty sure if he made any loud noises, people would see him and the snake. He thought better of it and turned his attention back to the odd snake, he winked back.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly;

"I get that all the time."

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure that the snake could here him. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.

The snake jabbed it tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see - so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump. "DUDLEY! MR. DURSELY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING."

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs. Alice called out his name as Harry fell to the ground in surprise. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened - one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next they leapt back with howls of horror.

Harry sat up and gasped; the glass in front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished.

Harry noticed Alice's body tense up as she stared at Dudley. Suddenly, Dudley was propelled forward into the boa constrictor room like someone had pushed him. Meanwhile, Piers jumped back as the large snake uncoiled itself, rapidly slithering out onto the floor.

People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past them, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come . . . Thanksss, amigo."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "Where did it go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death.

Even though Alice was still shook up about the whole thing, she still managed to sarcastically roll her eyes every time Dudley and Piers made up something new about the 'killer' snake.

But by far the worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. Simultaneously, Aunt Petunia started yelling at Alice, even though Harry was sure she had nothing to do with it.

Uncle Vernon was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go - cupboard - stay - no meals," before he collapsed into a chair. Aunt Petunia dished out a similar punishment to a very angry looking Alice, then went to fetch Uncle Vernon a very large brandy. As Alice and Harry left the room, he could have sworn he heard something crash from the kitchen, Alice kept marching up to her room in total anger.

Harry lay in his dark cupboard much later wishing he had a watch. He didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food. Maybe Alice was waiting for them to fall asleep too.

He'd lived with the Dursleys for almost ten years, ten miserable years, the only light spots in his memories were Alice. For as long as he could remember she had always been there for him, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had died in that car crash. He couldn't remember being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during the long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain in his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all, though Alice apparently looked like his mother. He couldn't place anyone besides her looking like that. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house either.

When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were his only family. Yet sometimes he thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers on the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia, Dudley and Alice. After asking Harry if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything.

A wild looking old women dressed all in green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked off without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry tried to get Alice to look at them.

Harry chanced a look out his door, He heard deep snoring, bellowing down the staircase. The Dursleys seemed to all be asleep. He quickly grabbed his glasses, left his cupboard and tip toed into the kitchen. He started making himself a sandwich when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Harry panicked and grabbed his supplies and ducked under the counter.

The door opened and the footsteps came right around the corner, Harry's heart was racing, he wasn't going to be allowed out of his cupboard till next year for stealing food.

"Funny." Harry heard Alice say with a giggle, "I would have thought you would be sick of small spaces by now." Harry let out a large sigh of relief, he got out from under the counter.

"Alice, one of these days you're going to give me a heart attack." Harry said bringing his supplies out from under the counter as well.

"Oh please you would have known if it was anyone else, because the whole house would be shaking." She laughed in reply. Harry silently laughed along with her.

"Now are you just going to sit there big sister?" Harry whispered with a large smile, "Or are you going to make yourself something to eat." Alice smiled and stared helping Harry with their meal.

"Only because knowing you," Alice nudged him in the side playfully, "you will find a way to burn these things to a crisp." It was times like these where living with the Durselys seemed livable. Alice was always there for Harry just like Harry was always there for Alice. At school, Harry had no one except Alice, and no one wanted to be friends with either of them. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated odd Harry Potter in his baggy clothes and Dudley's sister the boy clothed 'Loudmouth Liar'. Nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The Letters From No One

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry and Alice their longest-ever punishment. By the time Harry was allowed out of his cupboard and Alice was allowed out of her room, the summer holidays had stated. Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and the stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were quite happy to join in Dudley's two favorite sports, "Harry Hunting," and "Alice Attacking".

This is why Harry and Alice spent time out of the house, or in Alice's room as much as possible. But since Alice's room was technically Dudley's "second bedroom," it wasn't much of a refuge.

While they were outside, they mostly wandered around talking about the end of the holiday's, where they could both see a tiny ray of hope. When September came they would be going off to a secondary school together. But the best part was for the first time, in both their lives, they wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry and Alice would be going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilets the first day at Stonewall," he told Alice and Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?" Alice simply said. "Still be better than living here with you." Harry laughed and said "Yeah, and besides, I would never do that to the poor toilet, its never had anything as horrible as your head down it - it might get sick." Then Harry and Alice both ran, before Dudley could figured out what they had said.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Alice and Harry at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry and Alice watch television and gave them a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living rom for the family in his bran-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later in life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and she couldn't believe that her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh. He looked over to see that Alice was red in the face and had puffed up cheeks from trying hard not to burst out laughing as well.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water. Alice came through the door and looked to see what was in the tub, she looked at it in disgust.

"What's this?" Alice asked her mother. Her lips tightening as they did whenever either Harry or Alice asked a question.

"Your new school uniforms." she said nodding over to Harry.

Harry looked in the bowl again.

"Oh," he said "I didn't realize they had to be so wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you two. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

"I seriously doubt that." Alice said under her breath. She quickly went to take a seat at the table before Aunt Petunia could tell her off. Harry sat down next to her. Alice was trying to get her father's attention, but he was far too engrossed in Dudley at the moment to take notice of her. A sad look spread across Alice's face as she started eating her breakfast. Harry began to think about how Alice and him were going to look at Stonewall High - like they were wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Uncle Vernon began to read his newspaper as usual, and Dudley banged his Smelting's stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and the flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Alice," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Dudley get it."

"Get the mail, Dudley."

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smelting's stick, Dudley."

Harry dodged the Smelting's stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and - _a letter for Harry. _

Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives -he didn't belong to the library, so he didn't get any rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. This was the same kind of letter Uncle Vernon had gotten the day of Dudley's Birthday. Did he get one of these before? Why did Uncle Vernon take it?

Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, boy!" Shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen.

"What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled laughing at his own joke.

Harry went to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, and sat back down next to Alice who was staring at the letter wide eyed. Harry slowly began to open the letter.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia "Ate a funny whelk . . ."

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly "Dad, Harry's got something!"

Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter which was written in the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.

"That's _mine!" _said Harry trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon.

"But daddy it is Harry's," said Alice laying her hand on Uncle Vernon's arm. Uncle Vernon shrugged her hand off of him and either didn't hear or ignored what she said as he looked at the parchment and read it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. He began to look over the entire envelope as he turned the color of grayish white, like old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the firs line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness - Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to forget that Harry, Alice, and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter." He said loudly.

"_I _want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it's _mine_."

"Yeah daddy, give him his letter," said Alice trying to sweet talk her father.

"Get out, all of you," croaked Uncle Vernon as he grabbed a lump that was sticking out of his jacket, Harry automatically knew it was the first letter.

Harry didn't move.

"I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted.

"Let _me _see it!" demanded Dudley.

"Dad, give it to Harry!" Shouted Alice.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he grabbed all of them and threw them out into the hallway and slammed the door behind them. All three of them promptly had a fight over who would listen at the keyhole; even though they outnumbered him, Dudley won. So Harry and Alice lay down and listened at the crack between the floor and the door.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address - how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching - spying -might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want -"

Harry and Alice could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get and answer . . . Yes, that's best . . . we won't do anything . . . If we ignore it they won't come for them . . ."

"Whose them Vernon?"

"I said him, Petunia." Uncle Vernon said quickly.

"But -"

"I'm not having one in the house," Uncle Vernon grumbled quickly, "Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me?"

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was _not _a mistake," said Harry angrily, "it had my cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er - yes, Harry - about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking . . . you're really getting a bit big for it . . . we think it might be nice if you moved up with Alice in her room."

"With Alice?" Harry said in shocked happiness.

"Well, originally we were going to have you go up to Dudley's room, but I doubt either of you would have enjoyed that." Said Uncle Vernon as he attempted to squeeze back through the doorway. Harry saw that the lump in his uncle's jacket kept getting caught in the doorway.

"What about my other letter," said Harry. Uncle Vernon turned around with an inquisitive look on his face.

"What other letter?" Uncle Vernon asked.

"The one you put in your pocket on Dudley's birthday,". Uncle Vernon turned bright purple in an instant.

"Don't ask questions!" He yelled sharply "Take this stuff upstairs, now!"

The Dursely's house had four bedrooms: one was for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one was for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept and one where Dudley kept all his toys and things that wouldn't fit in his other room. This fourth room also doubled as Alice's room. She tried her best to keep everything clean in the room, but Dudley ended up just coming in and destroying the place all over again. It only took Harry one trip to take everything he owned from the cupboard to his room, even after refusing Alice's help. Alice had cleared off Dudley's old bed, the one she usually slept in and the bigger of the two in the room.

"You didn't have to give me the bigger bed you know." Said Harry putting down his possessions. Alice only smiled and sat down next to Harry on his new bed.

"I've had the bigger bed for longer, it's your turn to finally have a decent nights sleep." Harry took a moment to really appreciate how good of a person his cousin was compared to the rest of the Dursleys, even compared to the rest of the people he knew.

"Only if we switch off every week, promise Alice?" said Harry not wanting to seem selfish.

"Deal, little brother." She said shaking Harry's outstretched hand. Alice gave Harry a big hug than helped him find a place for his things.

It was hard to find a place for everything, even when he had so little. The room was pilled with Dudley's old things. Nearly everything was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air riffle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books.

Usually it was a lot cleaner, but after Dudley had found out that Harry was moving into _his _second bedroom, he had one of his biggest tantrums ever. Alice hadn't had time to clean up Dudley's mess.

From down the stairs, Harry and Alice could hear Dudley still in the throws of his tantrum.

"I don't _want _him in there too . . . it's bad enough she's in there . . ." Both Alice and Harry looked at each other and laughed.

As Harry helped Alice clean up their messy bedroom, he talked about the second letter that Uncle Vernon had.

"Maybe I could steal it from them when they are sleeping." Alice said as she tried to shove the tank into the corner by the television.

"Are you mental?" Harry said helping her with the tank, "They would catch you in an instant. I'm going to try and get it tomorrow."

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting's stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still couldn't get Harry back down in his cupboard. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

Everyone wasn't eating, except Alice who simply went about eating her eggs and reading one of the many books she had found while cleaning Harry and her's room the day before.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted. "There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive -"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry and Alice right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind, Alice watched in horror with her hands over her mouth.

After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard - I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry. "Dudley - Alice - go - just go."

Harry walked round and round in his new room while Alice watched him.

"How did they know I moved up here?" He asked Alice while still pacing. "And how did they know I didn't get my letter the first time round?"

"I don't know," Alice said, for a moment she looked glum than a smile spread across her face, "but maybe they'll keep sending letters till you get it." Harry grew a smile to match hers.

"And next time I'll be ready."

"We'll be ready, Harry." Said Alice as she picked up her book and started reading again.

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and he and Alice quickly got dressed silently. They mustn't wake the Dursleys. They stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights. They didn't speak because they went over the plan many times last night. They were going to sneak out and grab the letters from the postman for number four before he even got to the house. Harry's heart hammered as Alice and him creeped across the dark hallway toward the front door.

"AAAAARRRRGH"

Harry and Alice nearly leapt out of their skins; Harry had stepped on something big and squashy on the doormat - something _alive. _

Lights clicked on upstairs and to their horror, Harry and Alice realized that the big, squashy something had been Uncle Vernon's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry and Alice didn't do what they were planning to do. Uncle Vernon shouted at them for a half an hour and told them to go make him a cup of tea. By the time they got back, the mail had arrived right onto Uncle Vernon's lap. Harry and Alice could see three letters addressed in green ink.

"I want - " he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes. As Alice and Harry went back up to their room, Alice tried to cheer Harry up.

"My dad isn't very smart, he will trip up soon and when he does, we will be there." She said with a courageous smile.

"I feel like you heard that in a movie." Said Harry but he smiled back none the less.

Uncle Vernon did not go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "If they can't _deliver_ them they'll just give up"

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with a piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

Harry and Alice where watching from the stairs.

"We can only hope," Harry said while Alice stifled a laugh.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry. As they couldn't go through the mail slot, they had been pushed through the door, slotted through the sides, and few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out the hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked and jumped at small noises. Alice and Harry watched as he worked, joking about if they had straight jackets big enough for Vernon.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confuse milkman handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor. During this entire day, Alice and Harry noticed Uncle Vernon kept grabbing at the lump in his pocket that must have been the letter from Dudley's birthday. Harry wondered aloud to Alice as to why he hadn't gotten rid of that one yet. Alice had no answer.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired, rather ill, and just a tiny bit psychotic, but still happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, Alice couldn't stop staring at her father in bewilderment while the rest of her family was looking everywhere besides him.

"No damn letters today -" Uncle Vernon was cut off by something flying out of the chimney, it caught him in the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. Dudley, Alice, and Aunt Petunia were frozen in horror as Harry jumped up to try and catch one of the letters.

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon grabbed him around the waist and threw him into the hall. Aunt Petunia came next barley holding on to Alice, who was clamoring to get ahold of the letter her mother had just ripped from her fingers.

Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut and yelled over Harry and Alice's screams. "That does it!" Trying to speak calmly but pulling out tufts of his mustache at the same time.

"I want all of you back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Alice and Harry didn't say a word to each other, though Harry was pretty sure she was angry at her mother and father. She grimaced the entire time in the car, and glared from Uncle Vernon to Aunt Petunia in complete anger.

Every now and again Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

"Shake 'em off . . . shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this. Alice would grumble, what Harry was pretty sure were, obscenities under her breath for about 20 minutes after each time Uncle Vernon did this. Harry just stared out the window, wondering who wanted to get a hold of him this badly.

They didn't stop to eat of drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley, Harry and Alice all shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Alice offered to share a twin bed with Harry, but he decided the floor would be better. Alice looked at him inquisitively but she was too tired to argue with Harry. Dudley snored, Alice had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering . . ."

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Mr. H. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Harry and Alice made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.

"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her.

"Come on dad let's just go home!" yelled Alice in the backseat of the car, she was back in an angry mood again. Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her either. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge and at the top of a multilevel parking garage. Whenever Uncle Vernon would leave the car, Alice would beg her mother to put an end to what was happening, she never responded. Alice would ask Uncle Vernon to stop and go home every time he would get back into the car, he didn't respond until she asked as they were driving away from the parking garage.

"Dad can we go back home!?" Yelled Alice at her father. Finally Uncle Vernon slammed on the break and turned quickly to face Alice.

"SHUT UP!" Uncle Vernon roared. "JUST SHUT UP, WHY CAN'T YOU BE LIKE DUDLEY, HE'S STAYED QUITE THE WHOLE TIME. YOU'RE ALWAYS TALKING ALL THE TIME, JUST SHUT UP YOU - YOU LOUDMOUTH!" Uncle Vernon finished purple in the face. Harry realized that Uncle Vernon had used Dudley's favorite insult that he told the entire school to use on her. To Alice, there was nothing more hurtful to come out of her own father's mouth. Not even being told to be more like Dudley stung as bad.

Alice's stared at her shoes, Harry could see tears dropping from her face, he didn't know how to console her. Suddenly the rearview mirror cracked. Aunt Petunia let out a scared yelp, but Uncle Vernon didn't even look up to it for a second.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully, later that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

"It's monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a _television_."

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it _was _Monday - and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television - then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun - last year, the Dursleys had given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Alice was always there though to make the day special. She would make him food, and use her money to buy him a birthday present. Usually she bought him a candy bar from a grocery store, but to Harry there was no better present.

"Harry," Alice said looking up from her shoes, her eyes were red with tears but she still had a smile on her face, "tomorrows your birthday, I forgot you present at home though."

Alice's eyes fell back to her shoes.

"It's ok Alice," he said putting his arm around her, "I'll have others," Alice smiled a little, but kept her face down.

"Still, it's not everyday you turn eleven." she laughed sadly.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Com on! Everyone out." Uncle Vernon didn't notice that his daughter was still crying because of what he said, he was to happy about his 'perfect place'.

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broke-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There where only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips and four bananas, Harry and Alice had to share. Uncle Vernon tried to start a fire, but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" He said cheerfully, as he palmed his coat pocket again but Harry new better than to bring it up now, what would be the point. Alice was no longer crying but now she glared at her father like he kicked puppies on a daily basis.

Uncle Vernon was the only person in a good mood. Obviously he thought no one stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splatted against the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy widows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second rom and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door. Harry and Alice were left to find the softest bit of floor they could find and curled up under the thinest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Neither Harry or Alice could sleep so they stayed up and whispered quietly about Harry's birthday and how they were going to celebrate it out here.

Alice drew Harry's attention to Dudley's illuminated watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist.

"You'll be eleven in ten minutes." whispered Alice.

"I wonder where the letter writer is . . ." Harry whispered back a few seconds later. Alice shrugged her shoulders.

Five minutes to go.

"Did you hear that?" asked Alice,

"No?" replied Harry, "what did you hear?"

"Something slapping on the rocks . . ." Harry strained his ears, all he heard was the crashing of the waves.

"Probably nothing," Alice surmised. Two minutes went by when both Harry and Alice heard crunching noises, and creaking. Maybe rocks falling into the sea they guessed.

One minute to go and Harry would be just as old as Alice was.

Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .

"Be sure to make a wish Harry." Said Alice staring at the clock with him. Three . . . two . . . one.

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered as Harry and Alice jumped to their feet, both of their eyes were glued to the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.


End file.
